


Connor: Fake Traci

by Iocane



Series: The One With The Glory Holes [2]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Glory Hole, M/M, Prostitution, Thirsty Connor, but only if you haven't read the first part, connor is an unrepentant whore, i mean he works in glory holes, multiple partners kinda, no beta we die like men, there's gonna be a lotta dicks, unrequited pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-28
Updated: 2018-10-28
Packaged: 2019-08-08 23:52:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16439192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iocane/pseuds/Iocane
Summary: Connor spends several nights a week working the glory holes at a cheap sex club, thinking about his favorite customer.  Or at least his favorite customer's dick.When he gets home, he thinks about Hank and convinces himself he's happy with things exactly as they are.Flip Side/Sequel toHank Anderson: POS





	Connor: Fake Traci

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, y'all knew it was Connor.
> 
> Tried to pretend for, like, two minutes that it maybe wasn't, but my sweetie didn't buy it even a little bit. Sweetie was right.

Connor gave the slim cock that pushed through the hole a brief lick.  Most of his analyzing software had been turned off after his first shift, but he constantly checked for STD's, not wanting to transfer from one to another, and he could easily keep track of such things, even on a busy night.

Safe, so he nuzzled and licked at it, his hands working on another two.  He timed himself, making sure to give each phallus equal amounts of oral or manual stimulation.

He was not required to specifically stimulate to orgasm, only to suck and stroke the endless line of cocks presented to him.   The very first night had been nearly overwhelming. The huge array of information granted by each lick filled his screen. And too much of it was disappointing.  An alarming number of married men were seeking his services; so he'd shut everything off but the STD protocols.

Which allowed him to instead enjoy the sheer  **variety** of male phalluses available to him.  Colors, shapes, sizes, unique markings, but that was all he allowed himself to know about them.  

Counting off the last second, he drew off his latest cock and switched to the longest neglected, when a glanced proved no new offerings.  He checked the time and his pump began to speed up just a bit. While Connor very much enjoyed all the parts of his nighttime job, there were some parts he enjoyed more than others.

Well, one specific part.  A part that generally arrived about an hour after his shift began.  A part that disrupted his carefully choreographed servicing. A part, he was noticing with annoyance, that was late.

Not that he had any right to complain, and he knew it had been a bad idea, but he'd become almost attached to one particular cock.  Large and thick, it filled his mouth and throat, and he loved it, even as it made him think of things he shouldn't. 

He knew a man's physical size had little bearing on the dimensions of his cock, regardless of what the human porn industry would like to believe.  So there was no reason to assume that a large, very thickly built human would have a proportionally large, thickly built cock.

That in no way inhibited Connor's imagination on the subject.  A faint click indicated a new customer. His cheeks hollowed as he drew off the cock in his mouth and made a bee-line straight for what he'd been waiting for.  

Stroking the cocks on either side, Connor teased the bulbous head, loving how it was always hard for him, already leaking in anticipation.  As he took the thick shaft into his mouth, he noticed that, as always, the customer kept his balls tucked just slightly away. A command increased the amount of saliva generated, just enough that when he slipped the enticing member out of his mouth, it glistened with it.  

He was a good little faux-Traci and continued to service the others, but his new pattern dictated frequent returns to the special one.  Swallowing the thick flesh each time, Connor occasionally vibrated his throat, enjoying the way it made the man rut into his mouth.

He always wanted more.  Wanted things that hadn't occurred to him until he'd taken this job.  Hands in his hair, someone's eyes boring into his as he serviced them.  Normally, when he sucked, he kept his eyes closed, or they wandered, searching for new toys to play with.  With this one, he kept his eyes open and focused, gazing at where he imagined the eyes might be. Where this eyes  **would** be if he was- He ruthlessly cut that thought away.

He kept working the handful of phalluses, but always returned, making sure his favorite customer never so much as dried off.  And he never used his hands, he gave this cock only the best service, a wet and hungry mouth. 

Sometimes, he would take him into his throat a few times, then push down  _ almost  _ all the way. On his luckier days that earned him a few thrusts, a firm rutting into the hole and into his mouth.  He rubbed his face on the thick member as he kissed his way down. Licking around the bottom, he sucked needily at the skin there, even licking the plastic in an effort to pull those much beloved balls into his mouth.

Connor loved and hated that they were never offered up right away.  Everyone else just shoved their crotch against the hole and let Connor go to work.  This man, for whatever reason, kept his balls tucked away, hidden until Connor asked.  Until he begged and demanded them.

He always got them in the end.   Lucious and full, wrinkled skin dappled with grey and light brown hair, weighty balls worthy of the cock they served.  He drew one in, then the other. Then the shaft once again, wetting it generously. Suppressing a growl as timers went off, he switched, moving around his little cubby and tending as he needed to.

Finally he returned and swallowed him down again.  He sucked firmly, swallowing and the game he imagined they played every time began in earnest.  Connor sucked, giving his all every time, and he could see the changes, his customer getting closer and closer to orgasm.  

Connor was generally indifferent to whether his customer orgasmed, swallowing the semen for disposal later and continuing on.  But this man, this thick, heavy cock had never given him that, which made him want it all the more.

He gazed up as he took him deep once again.  Breaking his own rules slightly, he fondled those weighty balls and was rewarded with a sharp, shallow thrust.  This time he'd do it, he sucked greedily, ignoring the expired timers as long as he could.

He felt a tell-tale pull and whined even as he sucked harder, flooding his mouth with wetness as the cock withdrew.  Feeling like a child denied a coveted sweet, Connor redoubled his efforts on all the briefly neglected cocks. His intensified attentions earned him several mouthfuls of warm semen, but they were not the ones he wanted, and they did not satisfy.

Slowly the number of cocks began to diminish as his shift drew to a close and incoming customers were shunted elsewhere until he was replaced.  It meant he could spend more time on each one, but he just kept imagining the one that was long gone.

Finally he swallowed down the orgasm of his last customer and twenty minutes later he was outside, freshly washed and back into the clothes he'd arrived in.

It was a clear night, so Connor opted to walk home, working cleaning and sterilizing fluid around in his mouth as he did so.  Not for the first time, he wondered what Hank was up to. He felt a little guilty, leaving him to his own devices, but he was a grown man, and at least he didn't seem to be drinking as much.

Connor unlocked the front door, stopping to pet Sumo for a moment.  The feel and smell and general warmth of the Saint Bernard helped complete the mental shift from Connor: fake Traci, to Connor: Police detective and Housemate to Hank Anderson.

Hanging up his coat, he tidied up the kitchen, putting away the dishes that hank had cleaned after dinner, now that they were dry.  Wiping down the counter, topping up Sumo's bowls, a dozen little tasks he took pleasure in, showing his affection for Hank in the only way he could.  The only way it seemed the Lieutenant would accept.

He saw the lingering moisture in the shower when he passed, then, only because the door was open, he allowed himself to peek in on Hank.  He was asleep on his belly, head faced away from the door. Whether he'd never bothered to pull them up, or if they'd slid down since he went to sleep, Hank's covers were down around his knees.

It looked to be a bitterly cold night and Connor didn't want Hank getting chilled.  Moving with maximum stealth protocols, Connor crept into the room and slowly lifted the covers, glad they weren't stuck or tangled.  He drew them up carefully until he could lay them around the middle of Hank's back.

Not a perfect solution, but if he woke because of the cold, his covers were now in easy reach.  Once in the hallway again, Connor continued into his bedroom.

It had once been the garage but since Hank never bothered to park in it anyway, he'd given Connor the all clear to make his own space in it, just not to throw anything out.

Clearing a space hadn't been a problem, since everything was packed and piled haphazardly.  Connor had stacked everything in an organized manner, mapping each box and piece of furniture, along the garage door.  That served the treble purpose of blocking the line of windows, freeing up more space, and blocking off the most uninsulated part of the space from the rest of it.

While Connor didn't strictly need a bed, Hank had insisted on getting him one.  He had it on the house side of the garage, with the ready explanation that that wall was warmer.  And the less easily admitted to explanation that it placed his bed on the same wall as Hank's.

A small desk, a low dresser, a chair for visitors (Hank), and a large dog bed for Sumo, completed the 'furnishings'.  The entire rest of the space was given over to a magpie's nest of items. The drywall lining the once-exposed brick of the original garage was covered in printed newspaper clippings, photographs, and anything else Connor wanted a physical reminder of.  A collection of small shelves dotted the space, likewise covered with knick knacks, a few of his feeble efforts at art, gifts from Hank, Markus, and others. 

The more robust shelves carried books.  Hardcovers and paperbacks and all carefully chosen.  Most of them were some form of coming of age, or science fiction relating specifically to what humans had once thought androids would be.  The rest were ones that resonated with him somehow, or that he simply liked.

Like the bed, or even the desk, and the space itself, Connor didn't  **need** the books.  He could carry all of them and a million more inside his head.  But he liked having them. He liked to feel the weight of a book in his hand, the texture of the pages on his sensitive fingers.  To read each word one at a time and let the story unfold.

None of them appealed to him right now, however, and he made his way back into the living room.  Turning on his night vision, he once more looked over Hank's collection of books, and told himself it was because they were different from his own and not because they were simply Hank's that he preferred them.  He finally selected one, a weighty biography of a number of jazz singers from the early days of the musical genre. 

Book tucked under his arm, Connor eventually tucked into bed, laying on his side with his back to the rest of his room as he began to read.


End file.
